


Master of This Guy's

by walmartAU



Category: Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Alternate Universe - Slavery, Bondage, Consent Issues, Father/Son Incest, Fuck Or Die, M/M, Master/Slave, Porn With Plot, Public Sex, Undercover Missions
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-05-30
Updated: 2018-07-30
Packaged: 2019-05-15 19:38:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,011
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14796671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/walmartAU/pseuds/walmartAU
Summary: Disguised as slave and owner, two young men infiltrate a Niflheim gentlemen's club.Prompto's gonna have to suck some old guy off for the payload. Ignis is holding his leash.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Ignis, former domestic slave to the prince, must pose as Prompto's owner in a plan to access documents possessed by a high-ranking member of the Niflheim military. Prompto is playing the role of his sex-slave. Their arrangement secretly has both hot under the collar, with not a little guilt over the whole thing.
> 
> Originally written for ffxv-kinkmeme: "For...some reason, the chocobros really need to infiltrate high Niflheim society. In the particular part of Niflheim high society they need to get into, all the wealthy people have slaves who attend them at all time...The Lucian Crown Prince and his Shield are way too prominent to expect to be undetected, but Ignis always worked behind the scenes and of course Prompto is the most obscure of them all, so it's up to them!"
> 
> https://ffxv-kinkmeme.dreamwidth.org/4398.html?thread=8167982#cmt8167982
> 
> Please check the tags before reading. This first chapter may be familiar; it was posted briefly and deleted a few months ago. The kinkmeme version of the fic has a different ending.
> 
> Updates will be fairly regular.

Twin icons of the Hydraean hung over their heads, serpentine bodies coiled about the frame. As the door to the private dining room opened, inviting a gust, they almost seemed to move.

Prompto shivered. A gentle tug at the throat guided him forward. Keeping pace, Prompto watched floor tiles pass by the heel of Ignis's shoe, and tried his best to keep ignoring everything else. Especially the chilly touch of air against his bare chest, and the slim leash swinging before it.

He was in Ignis’s hands now. He'd have to trust the other man to play his part. And, uh, hope this plan of theirs wasn't gonna be a catastrophic and/or seriously injurous mistake. But for now, all he had to do was keep his mouth shut and hold a straight face. While paraded about like a show dog.

...Except the hottest dude _alive_ , also coincidentally a good friend of his, was doing the parading. Between the leather gear and Ignis’s voice telling him what to do, this already covered every wet dream Prompto'd woken up from since middle school. So Prompto had to concentrate on staying out of bonertown on top of the very real danger.

Despite sitting solidly in his top-ten porno scenarios, this was pretty fucked-up as far as real life went. Especially with _Ignis_. That would be inappropriate on _so_ many levels. But it was so hard to stop the thoughts from coming. All day, they had wandered the club, scoping things out. Ignis apparently couldn’t help being the perfect combination of everything Prompto had ever jerked off to. Like the way he scared off handsy older creeps with that _mine, all mine_ look, or periodically massaged the chafing along Prompto’s throat with a white-gloved thumb. Prompto's dick was all like, _I don't care how fucked up this situation is! Boner time!_

Ignis took a seat at the table, and Prompto quietly knelt at the cushion by his feet, leaning against the legs of Ignis’s chair. He glanced through his eyelashes at the others seated below the level of the table, head bowed. Ignis released the leash. It slipped down over Prompto's shoulder and pooled into his lap.

Soon Prompto was spacing out, trying not to fidget as he looked at the nothing-in-particular that made up his field of view. He heard the guests chattering, the click of Ignis's silverware, but without close attention. Even on the cushion, his bare knees throbbed. The collar itched. He fought the urge to look down at his own pale stomach. The straps on his wrists and ankles were uncomfortably present, too. Prompto couldn't swallow the urge to pop his wrists or stretch or _some_ thing.

Prompto wished the shorts weren't quite so short, that the shirt covered more than it did. He'd protested the night before. When Ignis broke out his wardrobe for the weekend, Prompto could not believe someone would _actually_ wear that in public. One day of the resort club in action, and Prompto was glad Ignis had remained firm through the entire uncomfortable debate. He was actually overdressed compared to the rest of this crowd.

As though the guy eavesdropped on his thoughts, Prompto felt a hand come to rest atop his head. He dared not look up or lean into it. He knew that Ignis would be complimenting a fellow guest, drink in his left hand. The right ran gloved fingers through Prompto's hair. Ignis paused to leave a brief, approving scratch behind Prompto’s ear, and the solid touch retreated. Prompto exhaled through his nose. _Boner, no, messed up, very bad,_ he thought in vain, clenching his toes to keep from squirming.

There was a tap of silverware to china above. The same hand reappeared before his nose, holding a fragrant white piece of something that spoke directly to Prompto's empty stomach. Prompto plucked the offering from Ignis's hand with his teeth, knowing better than to use his hands. He licked his lips as Ignis's hand retreated and returned with another scrap of the man's meal. After the last of Ignis’s leftovers, Prompto, content, sucked the grease from Ignis's thumb in thanks. Ignis ruffled his hair.

For the rest of dinner Prompto went unacknowledged. After-dinner coffee arrived with a selection of Duscaean sweets that tormented him with freshly-baked-goods smell. Prompto stared at Ignis's right foot. When it moved, Prompto took the cue. He passed forward the leash when Ignis extended his hand. He watched Ignis’s elbow while the man exchanged goodbyes, all smiles and careful promises. Trying to keep movement to a minimum, Prompto danced in place on swarming pins and needles. Ignis wrapped the end of the leash around his hand. Prompto fell to heel as he strode from the room and down the hall. Only the quiet click of the collar's attachment broke their silence.

 

 

 

 

"We're seriously doing it," he said the moment the door shut. Prompto grinned, still shaking with adrenaline. “And it’s actually _working_? I mean, still terrifying. Good food, though. Nobody yelling 'Lucians!', no MTs. I think I might be dreaming. Ignis, just to be sure, would you sl- Ignis?"

He turned around. Ignis was leaning against the door, eyes shut. His right hand clenched around the door handle, knucklebones crisp. With bangs brushed forward, tie loosened, he looked younger than usual.

Prompto bumped his fist gently into Ignis's arm.

“Alright there, buddy?” he said.

Ignis didn't break eye contact, but Prompto saw the slightest twitch of his friend's eyebrow before he caught himself. Prompto squeezed Ignis's shoulder and let go.

Moment over, they both swiveled into motion. Ignis sat on the edge of the bed. He removed his glasses and rubbed the bridge of his nose, then pulled out the burner phone to check for text messages. Meanwhile, Prompto started to peel off the skimpy gear. Just as he was fighting to get the top over a shoulder, Ignis lifted a hand. “Keep that on.”

Prompto froze. He lowered his arms.

“Excuse me," his friend said. "I required...a moment."

"Dude, as many moments as you need," Prompto said, climbing onto the other side of the bed. He stretched while Ignis collected himself, shaking some feeling back into his limbs. "And uh, I'm here, if y’wanna talk. I know it's gotta be..."

"I had forgotten," Ignis said to the pair of spectacles in his hand, "how this sort of person behaves."

Prompto, now cross-legged on the other side of the bed, raised a hand to scratch at the edge of his collar. "Rich? Crazy? Powerful?"

Ignis frowned. “…It’s the audacity," he said. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and returned his glasses to their place. "Enough of that, now," he said, straightening his shirt collar. "We have a party to attend in one hour."

"Ooh, a party? _Us_?" Prompto subjected his friend to a gasp of mock surprise. "What type? Wait, let me guess: We're dancing, except you're in stilettos and _I'm_ the dance floor. Foxy."

"Something like that," Ignis said, sounding exactly like a man who'd rather swallow live frogs than interact with other people ever again. He turned to Prompto with a frown.

“I apologize. I should have consulted you. I thought it an opportunity to ingratiate ourselves. The man himself is hosting."

"Nah," Prompto said. "Gotta seize any lead we’ve got. I'm in good hands.”

“Hmm.”

Prompto felt his face heat up as he continued quickly, "You're the one doing all the talking. I'm just pretending to blend in with extremely dedicated kinksters. I can deal."

When Ignis didn't respond, didn't look up, Prompto said, "...brings up bad memories, huh?”

Ignis tensed. "Not quite," he said. "At least, not in the way you're thinking."

"Care to explain?" Prompto said, stretching out along his side of the bed. "Or, like, no pressure. I just know, well, sometimes it helps. To get it off your chest."

Ignis sighed and sat back against the pillows. He rubbed at the side of his jaw with one hand.

"You must understand, my upbringing was one of unthinkable privilege," he said, staring at the ceiling. Beside him, Prompto stilled. "I wanted for nothing, truly. I received a private education, second to none, and my closeness to Noct sheltered me from a great deal of the cruelty that I have – have come to understand - is commonplace.”

"Makes sense," Prompto said. “I guess.”

"I was legally manumitted at fifteen. This excursion we've undertaken...this world is entirely foreign to my experience. Yet I find myself nostalgic in the strangest of ways."

“Well…I’m here, if you ever wanna talk about it.”

Ignis cleared his throat.“Thank you, my friend.”

Prompto shifted to raise a fist in Ignis's direction. Ignis smiled, just a little, and tapped the back of one hand to his.

“Now, let’s get our butts to this dance,” Prompto said with a wink. Ignis rolled his eyes.

 

 

 

 

"Surprise, surprise, the party _is_ in a freaky sex dungeon," said Prompto.

That is, Prompto _would_ have said that, were his mouth not occupied by his leash, and were he not surrounded by billionaire perverts and their similarly preoccupied companions.

Ignis didn't bother with the end of the lead like at dinner. Prompto had noticed the same thing. Of those they’d seen wearing one, most held the end in hand or mouth, or wrapped around a wrist, an obvious ornament. Clearly no flight risk in this place. Now _there_ was a depressing thought.

A handful of young women and men, nude but for the collars denoting their status, were attending to guests. The man at the bar had a chest as thick as Gladio’s and two chrome rings set into his nipples. There may have been twenty or thirty guests in the large room. Most were accompanied by one or more personal slaves, in various states of undress. A few younger men loitered at a pool table, while older guests filled a semicircle of low couches with conversation. It was kind of like being on the set of a mobster porno.

The old dude circle was positioned as audience to a young man gagged and bound upright to an X-cross. Successive strikes with a wooden paddle rapidly rendered his ass and thighs cherry-bright. Shaking and whining in pain, his balls were tugged away from his body and twisted. Some in the audience clapped politely, their own jewels safely nestled against the tonsils of kneeling slaves. Prompto swallowed around the leather in his mouth.

 _Think mission thoughts_. Assuming he survived this experience with fantasies intact, Prompto was headed for a _very_ special hell. It didn't feel quite real.

Ignis waved him forward in the direction of the bar. Prompto took the hint and bowed, wrapping his leash around one wrist and peeling off.

With drink in tow, he spotted the place Ignis had claimed for himself on one of the low seats. He was chatting up a scowling old man with terrible hair. Prompto caught a glimpse of wrinkly ballsack before averting his gaze. A blonde boy knelt before the man, kissing his inner thigh. _Bullseye_. Prompto suppressed a shudder. Ignis had gone straight for the kill – and it made sense. Better to make second contact as quick as possible, establish a rapport. They only had the weekend to get Prompto in, steal the necessary files from his room, and escape without _arousing_ suspicion. Pun way intended. And, really, it had to be him. Asking Ignis to play soulless slave-owner was awful enough, and he was the only one who could pull off high society.

Prompto wasn’t all that worried. He knew Ignis could handle himself, _and_ he knew what he was getting into. After Imperial armies and the wrath of the gods, what harm was a distracting blowjob or two? Even if the guy did look and act like a catoblepas asshole. According to Cor’s intel, though, his data was key. The best shot they had against Niflheim’s overwhelming numbers.

Ignis extended a hand as Prompto arrived with drinks, handing the first one off to their target with a slight bow. Prompto retreated to kneel beside Ignis's chair. The two men were laughing together now over something Ignis had said, the target's hand tangled in his slave's hair. Ignis was pretending to play with one of Prompto's nipples through the shirt.

Fingers still against Prompto’s chest, Ignis said something and the target straightened with excitement. Prompto reddened from the attention. The noise in the room seemed all of a sudden like a wall boxing them in. The old man raised a question, and Ignis let it hang for a moment before snapping his fingers.

Prompto crawled to Ignis's other side on cue. He could feel the flush growing out from his face. He crawled to show off for the creep – the target – baring his neck with the collar's ring sitting in the hollow of his throat, arching his back to show off his ass. He wondered if anyone else in the room was eyeing him too, what they thought, and an embarrassed heat went through his groin.

Grasping his arm, Ignis pulled him up to display more of his front. Prompto pressed himself up against Ignis. Ignis began to stroke down Prompto's chest and stomach, other hand against his face, while describing temperament for the other man. Prompto kept his eyes down, watching Ignis’s touch. Even though he’d been stretched out for the eyes of a stranger, the warmth at his back was grounding.

 _They can look, but only I can touch,_ said Ignis’s hands.

The target asked a question, and Ignis snorted. Prompto found himself facing their target. He saw the scaly skin of the man's throat contract eagerly as Ignis's thumb slipped between Prompto's parted lips. Prompto sucked at it, groaning when Ignis pressed down on his tongue.

…All to this dude’s benefit, of course. The target said something else to Ignis, who laughed again, and snapped his fingers once more. Prompto pulled the leash from his wrist with his teeth, standing to assume his place behind Ignis as the men shared a firm handshake.

"Very well, Chief Besithia," Ignis said, pocketing the target's card with a slim smile. “Tomorrow night, he's all yours."


	2. Chapter 2

"The tip we got from a reliable source," the Marshal said, once they'd arranged themselves around the card table. He slid a folder across the surface to Noctis. "A former higher-up at a Lucian conglomerate that mainly deals in plastics and safety gear. Manufactured half the Glaive field equipment for generations. Turns out it's not so easy anymore to pitch Lucian bulletproof vests – especially not to the same guys who ordered the bullets. After getting kicked off the guest list, he came straight to us with dirt on the rest."

"So let me get this straight: he's not bitter over the invasion, he's bitter because he's missing out on a party," Noct said, rolling his eyes.

"And profits," Gladio said.

"Aaaand _profits_ ," Noct said. "Great. Why would we trust this guy again?"

"There's no love lost between them," Cor said, "after the company's HQ in Insomnia got trashed by the attack. I don't doubt his motives. He's a real piece of work, though. He claims these clubs have a lot of shady business behind closed doors, and he's willing to foot the bill to get us inside."

"A mutually beneficial arrangement," said Ignis. "How convenient."

"It's not just convenient, it's serendipity," the Marshal replied. "Niflheim's Chief of Military Research is about to be in town on business. The man responsible for nearly every weapon the Empire's used in the past fifteen years. Our tipster CFO says he's got a backup copy of critical data on him at all times. Including potential vulnerabilities in the MT systems."

Gladio spoke up finally. "So what, we run in, grab this guy, and give him a piece of our mind?”

"Dude, I just saw this in a movie," Prompto said. He leered at Gladio over the table. "Spoiler warning, the bodyguard’s-"

Gladio immobilized the younger man's neck for a noogie, whatever wisecrack he'd been about to make swallowed by a bark of surprised laughter. Noctis rested the side of his face against his arm on the table, slumping further down.

"There's another option," Cor said, after waiting patiently alongside Ignis and Noct's twin death-glares for the two to break apart. "Supposedly the man's easy to get ahold of, once you're in, and too fond of his Ifrit’s Drool."

Noctis lifted his head. "So, infiltration?"

At Cor's nod, Gladio scowled. "Dunno if you've noticed, but we ain't exactly a portrait of the Nif elite. Sir."

Prompto shifted in his seat, avoiding eye contact. Ignis met Cor's look.

"I can only presume the Marshal had a more compact party in mind for this endeavor," Ignis said.

The man paused before responding. "This is the risky bit," he began, carefully. "But considering you four are headed to Accordo either way, hear me out."

Moments later, Noctis was on his feet, his camp chair toppling over. "No! Absolutely not!"

"Noct," Ignis said.

Noctis turned to face him. "You don't have to go along with this," he said. “There’ll be other chances. We can - figure something out."

"Be that as it may, the decision is my own," Ignis said gently.

"It's our job to keep you out of the line of fire, Princess," Gladio added.

"Hey, I'm in," Prompto piped up. "I basically just gotta stand there and go along with whatever Iggy says, right? I can handle that.”

" _You_ couldn't keep a straight face when he caught us sneaking out for your birthday," Noct said. He raised an eyebrow at Cor. "You'd put those acting skills to the test in enemy territory?"

Prompto sputtered. "Dude!"

"Doesn't sound like it'll take much acting," said Gladio. "More of a 'stand here and look pretty' deal, right?"

Noct frowned. "Back home–"

"With all due respect, most of Insomnia's enslaved are debtors and their children, indentured to the state," Cor said. “Niflheim's different. The type this club attracts... it's all private money, and its members are wealthy enough to keep  _personal companions_ of a less common sort.”

Ignis didn't miss the sidelong glance Gladio gave him down the kitchen counter. He made no move to respond.

"P-personal companion?" Prompto squeaked.

"Like high-class escorts," Noctis said. "Except for the obvious."

Prompto turned bright red.

Ignis interrupted before they could derail any further. “Well put. Now, how do you find that report so far?”

“I’m reading, I’m reading it, bite me,” Noct waved a smirking Ignis away over the camp chair, opening the documents Cor had provided.

Stepping back from Noct, Ignis raised an eyebrow at Prompto.

“I won’t pretend to be entirely comfortable, myself,” he admitted. “I do think it may be worth our time to investigate, if nothing else. I won’t ask you to agree. You needn’t say anything but ‘no’.”

“No,” Prompto said. Ignis nodded, and he sputtered, “No, I mean – wow, not no, at least, maybe, it sounds like this could work, but I need to think about it for more than a minute?”

"Very well," Ignis said. "Let's discuss a bit longer and give the Marshal his answer in the morning. Marshal?"

"That's fine," Cor said. “It won’t work if you aren’t committed. Take a day or two to think it over. But we're low on both options and time, so the sooner, the better."

Prompto nodded at the Marshal in frantic agreement. The motion vibrated through the crown of his hairdo. "Yessir, can do."

Ignis saw Noct look back to him, body language poised in a question. He pretended not to see.

"Actually, you know what? If he's in, I'm in, let's do it." Prompto seemed to have gathered his courage in a matter of seconds. "Anything to help the war effort."

"This isn't a monster bounty. If you're not sure, you can give it a little longer," Noctis said.

"Nah, man. Besides, me and Iggy? Like a well-oiled machine." He grinned at Ignis, whose pulse quickened from the attention.

Ignis smiled in return. "Slick as a whistle.”

 

 

 

 

First contact with their target arrived sooner than Ignis had anticipated. He and Prompto had dressed that morning and been driven to the resort by Gladio in a rental vehicle, where they proceeded inside, Prompto seeing after the luggage in a cacophony of bare limbs.

Ignis, growing hot in the face at least partially due to the curious gazes they faced in the lobby, questioned the viability of this plan once again.

Atop the spinning patterns of the carpet, he felt like a particularly obvious and juvenile impostor, with his hair in his face and a bespoke black suit. The soft gloves that encased his entire hands to the wrist provided the same sensation as if he'd wrapped each individual finger in a layer of cotton padding, and were just as convenient with which to navigate his unfamiliar wallet. Prompto, on the other hand...

Ignis chanced a look to his right, and swallowed heavily. His friend stood in an informal slouch, tapping his fingertips idly against his sides, shifting unconsciously as they waited, eyes darting back and forth as he forgot again the simplest of instructions. Prompto seemed at least to be attempting to rein himself in, but the performance so far had not inspired Ignis's confidence.

"Do not look free men or women in the eye, or speak unless spoken to." Ignis had said, whilst they got ready for their excursion. "Do not go anywhere without me, or take any independent action without permission. If you must speak, address me as 'sir' whenever possible."

His friend turned to look at him, mouth slack, phone sliding from his loose grip. The black leather collar hung open against Prompto's collarbone, where he had been fastening and unfastening it. The smartphone landed face-up next to Prompto. An open camera app reflected the ceiling of the caravan.

"Keep in mind those guidelines, and nothing you do will seem out of place." Ignis did his best to mask his growing anxieties with a frown, adjusting his glasses. Unhelpfully, Prompto shut his mouth instead of responding. "It may aid us to observe others in the same position, as we encounter them."

He'd have to swallow his discomfort and have a serious conversation with Prompto once they reached the room. That was, assuming he could look at his friend for more than a moment without breaking into a hot sweat.

The costume did things to Ignis that he hadn't known were possible. His friend's shoulders and arms remained bare, a familiar (and admittedly welcome) sight. The lean muscles of his forearms sometimes tensed with the expressions of his hands, and thanks to his sparse attire, Ignis saw a similar tensing in the shallow curves of Prompto's stomach. His firm thighs occupied the volume of the tight black shorts. When Prompto turned, the exact profile of his soft length pressed through the fabric.

At once Ignis turned away, his underarms perspiring. Cold shame and reprehension washed into the pit of his stomach. Prompto had agreed to don a mask as much as he had in accepting this proposal. No matter how revealing the outfit, he could not take advantage, ogling his friend to satisfy his own base fantasies. Was he no better than the men whose company necessitated such a distasteful ruse in the first place?

To make matters worse, the lobby where they would collect their room details serviced all manner of guests to the resort, and Ignis had yet to see another pair like theirs. Stoking the ball of constant tension that had taken up just below his sternum, Ignis wondered if this could possibly be a sensible idea.

Running into Verstael Besithia only intensified his discord. Ignis checked himself in under the fake name Cor's contact had supplied, and collected the room key. En route to the elevators, they'd turned a corner, and Prompto had been unable to quiet a sharp intake of breath at his shoulder.

Besithia himself appeared physically unimpressive, characterized by the receding hairline and naturally haphazard beard of his advanced years. Two blue eyes like cut stones sat recessed into a permanent scowl above sagging under-eye bags. The sight of the leashed boy at his side, slender, golden-blond, and almost entirely in the nude, made for a mirror image of Prompto and Ignis's respective roles.

Ignis drove his elbow into Prompto's side without looking. Discreetly.

He'd made short work of introductions, providing their cover story of his recent wealth in Niflheim's territory of Tenebrae, and subsequent admission to the gentlemen's club. To his surprise, Besithia extended an invitation to his private evening group without prompting. The man complimented him on the tone of his slave's body, and when an elevator arrived, graciously waved Ignis in first.

By the time they reached their floor, his friend's entire body buzzed with anticipation. Ignis observed Besithia lingering at the sight of Prompto's narrow hips, the modest swell in his shorts, and restrained himself from letting out a territorial snarl. He bid the man goodbye, with a promise to continue their conversation over dinner.

"I think we should make a list," Prompto whispered to him in the hallway, after waiting for two guests ahead of them to turn the corner. "An official 'Don't Blow Iggy's Cover' guide, or something."

"Shh," Ignis hissed out of the corner of his mouth.

"Oh, right. Sorry!"

 

 

 

 

He adjusted his tie again, and while doing so cast a morose glance over the sorry ensemble that was to be their wardrobe for the weekend. All solid colors. All buttoned up. Ties.

How depressing.

Prompto was singing something to himself in the hotel shower, lyrics unintelligible over the white noise of water.

Still eyeing the costumes laid out on the bed, his sober and Prompto’s pornographically shiny, Ignis recalled a wet winter's day in Insomnia. He'd been three months into Crownsguard training and facing a space problem at home. The question of what to do about his closet and chest of drawers turned over in his head as he attended Noctis’s Midwinter tailoring appointment. In spite of this, a particularly flamboyant dress top caught his eye on the way out.

He couldn't say, after the hour spent masking bone-deep boredom as he accompanied Noct, what possessed him to latch onto this article of all things. The dark fabric bore an embroidered pattern in glittering metallic thread, like so many silver fish scales.

The look didn't suit him at all. It was quite loud. It had been placed on display.

"Just get it," Noct said. His guards had come to a stop by the doors, in wait of the lingering boys.

"I don't need any more clothes," he replied automatically, eyes still on the shirt. It was true. In fact, he had only this morning received brand-new Crownsguard fatigues, which were still folded atop the bureau for want of somewhere to store them. Noct knew this.

Every time Noctis had a new appearance which required him to be photographed in public, he would need his measurements taken and something to wear, for each of which Ignis went through the same process. His underthings and clothing for daily use had been issued automatically, with semi-annual updates to account for growth, since he had been moved into the Citadel at six.

Crown policy standardized the quantity and cut of each article, and the entire set would be deposited at once upon his bed in a series of flimsy plastic bags. It was a waste, really. As his other clothing diversified, and he moved into private quarters adjacent to Noct's, Ignis might only take out socks and underpants and leave the rest sealed in his drawers for months at a time. Since his emancipation and subsequent removal from Citadel inventories, their delivery had ceased entirely.

Over the years, he had accumulated an expansive wardrobe, all in solid black and grey. There was simply nowhere to put it, and no one he felt he could ask where else it might find use. And now he had a new set of uniforms to contend with in addition to Noctis's increased public profile. He needed a solution. Not another shirt.

"When would I _wear_ that?" he'd said to Noct at the time.

At last Ignis pried his gaze from the garment, with some difficulty. Noctis shrugged, and they continued, the Prince offering a half-hearted farewell wave in the direction of the owner's eager invitation to return. Ignis had checked their next engagement against his list of reminders. He opened a web search for the store's name while on his phone, almost as an afterthought.

Later, squinting at the security code on his personal payroll card for the first time, he used one pointer finger to carefully enter each line of information into the screen of his phone. With the sizing printed in the lapel of his Crownsguard jacket serving for reference, Ignis had placed his first online order.


	3. Chapter 3

 

As soon as they made it back to the room from the party, Prompto darted for the bathroom without waiting for permission. He grabbed a change of clothes. Strip, collar off, quick shower, stop the bad boner, collar on, pajamas. They'd already decided to keep the collar in place at all times, just in case someone walked in on them. It was one of a set of rules Prompto had ultimately dubbed ‘Blow Anything But Our Cover'. Prompto not speaking in public was another.

As he fiddled with the clasp, Prompto took a second to check himself out in the mirror. The tragic thing about it, sore kneecaps and all, was that Prompto was discovering how into this he actually was. Really into it. When the collar and leash came out, his mouth watered, and oh man, Ignis’s hands. But, ugh, listening to the nasty lizard brain in this situation was shitty friend behavior. Ignis was playing a part. This whole operation must have been, like, massively offensive to the guy. Fantastic as things were going in Prompto’s little world, everybody else in the room was in their real lives, including the poor souls who involuntarily occupied the same role he did, and Ignis could be in real danger if he slipped. So Prompto needed to be a good friend. He'd cool his head and watch it on careless comments. Be there for Iggy. Seduce Grandpa. Get the files. Mission time. Priorities.

…then after mission time, maybe more kinky time. Like, between him and someone else, someone free, ideally someone with excellent hands. Very consensual.

After dressing and a quick series of stretches, Prompto burrowed into bed, relaxing against the soft pillows. Ignis climbed in not long after, warm from his shower and smelling of hotel soap, an offensive citrus. They lay without saying a word. At least, for a time. Just the sound of breathing, eaten up by the low hum of the heating unit. Prompto thought about the room. Then he thought about outside.

"Hey, Iggy," Prompto whispered into the darkness.

"Prompto," came the response from his left.

He fidgeted under the covers. "Can I ask you something? Like, in the 'certain memories' territory? With a big, bold, 'obviously, you don't have to answer this' disclaimer?"

Ignis didn't respond immediately. Prompto had just started to work up the nerve to take it back when Ignis let out a held breath like a sigh, and he realized they both were reeling from their brief attendance at the party.

"What are you curious about?"

Silence.

"Prompto?"

"What was it like?" Prompto said.

"I'm sorry?"

"When Noct set you free?"

Ignis said, "Oh," quietly, and then seemed to remember himself. "That one doesn't make for much of a story, I confess."

"I'd still like to hear it," Prompto said. "But only if it's OK with you."

He turned his head to look at his friend in the darkness of the room. Ignis was frowning slightly. "If you insist," he said. "Let me think...It was a warm day. Noct made a point of waking up on time. We collected my paperwork and temporary documentation at the court, removed the collar, and enjoyed a meal together in the city.”

“Sounds like a nice day,” Prompto said.

“It was. By the next sunrise, back to business as usual. I remember cooking for Noct the following evening, and thinking, ‘how anticlimactic’. I felt so fortunate all the same.” Ignis's features had relaxed into a fond smile at the memory.

”I thought, at first, it would change me," Ignis continued, his tone idle, relaxed, still not looking at Prompto. “That the mind of a free man would intrinsically deviate from that of the slave. As I eventually came to understand - some of it your doing, in fact - no such difference exists.”

Prompto’s heart rocketed off the insides of his chest. The sheets bunched up beneath his hands. “My, uh, my doing?”

“That is, as a model of behavior: status be damned, you conducted yourself with us as with Noct, in private as in public. At first I was suspicious, and then I wondered if you might not be a common idiot–"

"Hey," Prompto said, fighting to keep the grin off his face. He could barely make out Ignis smiling too.

"-not knowing that you were perhaps the smarter of the four of us, to decline the dance of rank and role entirely.”

Prompto felt a warmth spreading in his stomach that threatened to envelop his entire body. He chewed on his lip, gathering the words.

"Thanks, buddy," he said in a near-whisper. “For answering, and that –means a lot."

"Thank you, my friend," Ignis said. "Let's rest, shall we?"

They yawned in unison, and Prompto heard Ignis let out a surprised snort under his breath. He rolled onto his side, facing away from Prompto, who remained laying on his back, staring at the ceiling.

 

 

 

 

Wakefulness came to Prompto gradually, like an auto-adjusting lens. Everything fuzzy around the edges, comfortable and warm. Then, practically in an instant, the sound of the world snapped into focus and the memories of the past day washed up.

Prompto stifled a groan. Opening his eyes or even rolling over onto his stomach seemed out of the question. He stretched in place as best he could, burrowing deeper into the bedding.

"Good morning," he heard Ignis say from the other side of the room.

Prompto opened his eyes. The lights in their suite were on, the curtains still pulled shut. "'Morning."

After Ignis cleaned his teeth and was dressing, choosing today the 'deadly in imperial purple' route, Prompto hopped into the bathroom to freshen up. He eyed the small pile of shimmering gold vinyl on the bed. His uniform today involved only slightly more fabric than yesterday's, but it was something. According to their target’s itinerary, they'd be leaving the resort grounds for an afternoon outing nearer to the center of the city.

When Prompto turned just a little in front of the mirror, eyeing his own ass skeptically in the outfit, Ignis cleared his throat. Prompto jumped. His elbow knocked painfully into the counter, sending the resort's hair-dryer onto the floor.

"Ignis!" Prompto said, fumbling to pick it up. "Pretty- Pretty tight, right?"

Ignis had that look like he was trying to avoid offering his honest opinion in response to Prompto's extremely fake laugh, and Prompto fully appreciated the consideration. "I've ordered our breakfast. In the interest of preserving appearances, would you mind answering the door when it arrives?"

Prompto flashed him two thumbs up. "You got it, boss."

Ignis made a face. "Thank you."

Ignis returned his attention to doing up buttons, so Prompto glanced around the room. It didn't match the ostentatiousness of the places they'd visited yesterday, and mostly seemed like a bigger, nicer version of a hotel room. It was as nice as one of the Citadel guest rooms, for sure. He didn't really have a scale for gauging what looked richer on the rich scale, to be fair, and he'd mostly been looking at the floor, not his surroundings.

Aside from the bed and bathroom, a television and a comfortable-looking armchair occupied most of the space. Shiny side tables sat on either side of the bed, each with a lamp, and another small table stood by the armchair with a couple papers. The attached bathroom had two sinks. All-in-all, probably the most expensive place Prompto’d ever slept, after Noct's. Just as that train of thought started to escape him, there was a knock.

"I apologize for the trouble," Ignis said the moment the door closed behind Prompto.

"No trouble at all!"

Ignis claimed the coffee for himself, though he made a face at the first sip. They split the rest of the tray while discussing their plans for the weekend over a notebook Ignis produced from nowhere.

"Uh, this looks like we aren't due anywhere until one in the afternoon," Prompto said, raising his eyebrows.

"Astute observation," Ignis said. He’d folded his glasses over the edge of one breast pocket, and Prompto could see the dark circles under his eyes. “This morning, I plan to follow up with each of the men we met yesterday. I hope you don't mind passing some time in the room until then."

"Sure you don't need me?" Prompto said. "Appearances' sake?"

"That won't be necessary," Ignis said. “Truth be told, I would prefer you only be asked to, er - perform - when absolutely necessary."

Prompto leaned forward, but Ignis held up a bare hand before he had time to open his mouth. "Humor me in this," he said.

“....Alright. one o'clock," Prompto said. "No problem. But call the room if you run into trouble.”

"If I do." Ignis promised. He tapped his finger back against the schedule. "Now, following this afternoon address, Chief Besithia has extended an invitation to his personal box at Arena Galviano, after which we'll return to the room before the evening meal..."

Prompto tried to pay attention, he really did, starting with the day's summary and Ignis's observations of other slaveowner-slave interactions, both general and specific. Some of Ignis's questions about the various semi-pornographic rituals Prompto was comfortable performing in public - basically anything they'd done so far - had been on his mind too. But Ignis went back through each stop of the day, describing the location, key players in attendance and their various relationships to Verstael Besithia, and Prompto found himself cracking jokes less and spacing out more as Ignis got to the finer points of the décor and menu.

Three quarters of the way through the list, he was shooing Ignis through the door. It's not like he necessarily needed to know every detail of every fancy cocktail party Ignis had invited himself to, since he'd be following wherever the man went, looking at nothing and nobody.

The door swung shut for the second time that morning, and Prompto found himself relaxing into the bed once again.

He had never been this far from home. Any other time, he'd be jumping at the chance to explore the city proper. Ignis had left a crossword and a book. There was a notepad and pen on the table, and a room service menu. Prompto glanced it over before remembering he wouldn't be able to order anything, anyway. One of the drawers had a destination guide in it, which was just depressing. Ignis kept theirs in the glove compartment, but none had seen daylight since the shit show that had befallen their once-cheery trip. He chewed on his thumbnail, tapping his fingers on the Restaurants - Tenebrean page. Maybe after they pulled this favor for Cor and the others they’d have some time to go out for a night with the guys. Give Ignis a night off of cooking. Take everybody's mind off of stuff.

He realized what he was doing and stopped biting. They'd just been groomed down for the infiltration. If he blew Ignis's cover over something as simple as uneven nails, he'd never hear the end of it. He'd been doing alright at catching his reflexive impulses for Ignis's sake. Turned out having nothing to do but stare at rich people's shoes all day made it pretty easy to space out. And, embarrassing as the thought was, he liked when Ignis touched him here and there in encouragement.

The memory of fingers in his mouth arose unbidden. And, as Prompto reflexively let his mouth open in self-exasperated lust, he felt something else rise unbidden. Prompto glanced up to his own, very judgmental gaze staring him down from the mirror.

The internal debate of a lifetime lasted about five seconds before he looked away, swore and stuck two fingers in his mouth before he could talk himself out of a terrible idea. Shoving the other hand down his shorts to rub at his stiffening groin, he let out an exhale of breath.

He ran his own fingers over his tongue experimentally, pushing down, sticking his tongue out against them and meeting resistance, and thought about the way Ignis had put a hand in his mouth like this the day before. In front of strangers, without even looking at him. If you didn't know it was an act, you’d never guess anything but that taking Prompto apart fell beneath his notice - even while running his wide, slender hand down Prompto's chest. The slight, firm pressure he applied kept Prompto's bare back pressed up against their single plane of contact where Ignis remained warm and fully clothed.

Prompto pulled his hand from his mouth to lick some of the drool awkwardly onto his palm. This time, he eased the tight gold shorts off and tossed them toward the bathroom, not wanting to explain any awkward accidents. When his slick hand closed around his dick, Prompto groaned around the fingers in his mouth, and added a third. He stroked faster, panting over his own hand as he curled the digits into the back of his throat, picturing Ignis doing it. The mirror facing the bed betrayed his full-body flush in glimpses, and Prompto squeezed his eyes shut.

The slightly salty taste of Ignis's fingers. The way he never tugged the leash or looked back to make sure Prompto was keeping up. Like he took his claim for granted. The way he noticed when the collar started to itch. The pressure of his hand rubbing at Prompto's neck or shoulder, the only communication they could afford. The approving pat on the head, that said he was doing well, doing what he was supposed to be doing. His voice. The way, pressed against him, Ignis's voice had thrummed through his entire chest with every quiet, commanding sentence.

But also the way he sounded in the Regalia, when Noctis was dozing off in the back and he saw a funny billboard or street sign, and had to lean towards Prompto and stage-whisper over the sound of the road whatever self-amused quip it had inspired.

Prompto bucked his hips into his hand as he thought about the sight of Ignis, hair down but tie perfectly straight, untouchable in his pristine suit and ironed slacks as he carelessly pulled out his cock, telling him what to do in that voice, deep and scratched from sleep like he'd sounded that morning. Prompto imagined dropping to his knees, taking Ignis in his mouth, laving worship along his length while Ignis's steady hand gripped his hair.

He groaned and squirmed against the hotel bed, twisted his palm over the head of his dick and at the mental image of Ignis's fingers tightening, let out one great, desperate whine through the spit at the heel of his hand, leaving indentations of his teeth as he came against his fingers and stomach.

Prompto panted, still twitching, unfurling himself from the fantasy. He wiped his fingers off on his thigh and belly, glancing at the tissue box on the side table but not wanting to drag himself back upright just yet.

Then he groaned and pressed a hand to his face.

What the hell was he doing?


	4. Chapter 4

At the tail end of the host's general address, Ignis caught Prompto dozing off against his leg. He was surreptitiously nudged awake and waved up with a hand.

They'd already worked out a rhythm for Ignis's nonverbal commands: the important thing remained the establishment of Ignis's experience and status among the others, by appearing impeccably behaved and imitating the conventions of the Chief's social circle. That went for mundane stuff as well as slightly freakier territory. So when Ignis presented a signal with no obvious aim, Prompto would freely act in service to those goals. Ignis, in turn, would play along with whatever course of action Prompto chose to take, maintaining the illusion of a perfectly-trained body slave, attuned to the man's every need.

Grateful to have something to do, Prompto took his time returning. He'd seen the night before that he wouldn't be permitted to approach the servers or tables directly, so he edged his way towards the back side doors until a helpful kitchen staffer intercepted him, pressing a sparkling beverage and tiny plate of hors d'oeuvres into his hands. He risked a tiny, grateful smile at the woman, who bore a thin silver collar quite unlike his own. She glanced between the black leather at Prompto's own throat and wrist and his revealing getup, and responded with a blank stare in the general direction of his ear. The room erupted in applause behind them as the speech came to its end.

He retreated to where Ignis stood. The man stood with an unfair ease, conversing pleasantly amidst a small group of gross men thrice their age, each beady little eye sparkling in enchantment thanks to whatever tactically genius bullshit he’d been spinning them. Prompto served from the plate in silence. This time, Ignis waved a careless hand the moment Prompto began to lower himself again, and, momentarily lost, Prompto looked in the direction of the gesture to see a handful of other young men in tight shorts standing against the wall at the very back. He glanced from side to side before complying.

Just as he remembered, standing went infinitely better than kneeling. Although he was definitely shifting his weight more than any of his neighbors, who seemed to have mastered the art of becoming human statues. Prompto had no clue how they managed it – practice, of course. Not being able to talk drained the energy right out of him. Bizarrely, though, he felt nothing if not even less inclined to be social. He'd barely said two words to Iggy at breakfast. They had a whole weekend of this to go? 

One day down, two left. Prompto began to cultivate a series of backstories for people he observed, standing in the shadows with the other slaves. Stuff like _Personally killed furry animal for ugly hat_ , and _From Duscae, on vacation_ , _irrational fear of gondolas_ , even _Made a million bucks off the day Insomnia-_

Across the hall, he saw Ignis shaking the hand of one of his pack of fans. Prompto quickly rolled his shoulders before stepping out of line and making his way back. The leash tapped his chest with every step. Ignis completed a round of goodbyes and Prompto once again fell into place as the man's shadow.

Proceeding briskly down the hall, Ignis walked straight past the elevator, to Prompto’s surprise, leading them down an adjacent hallway and through a swinging door. A wall of mirrors and beige-tiled floor awaited them, floor-to-ceiling stall doors facing. They walked in step down a short privacy hallway and turned the corner. The men’s restroom was filled with the faint scent of vanilla, and as it registered to his senses Prompto heard the creak-and-puff of an automated freshener.

Ignis peeled off his gloves and thrust both hands before one of the faucets. “How are you keeping?” he said a moment later, softly, barely above the quiet hiss of water.

Prompto paused, It struck him that this was Ignis showing concern, despite the fact that he’d basically hung out doing nothing at all. Like, it was nothing compared to the creepy-sexy hand-feeding gig. Ignis wasn’t looking at him, but from the set of his shoulders, he could tell the guy had been worried. It felt strange, given the inoffensiveness of the day – but at the same time, kinda good. 

He opened his mouth to speak and detected the click of shoe-heels turning the corner. Ignis was still frowning at his bare fingers before the sink sensor, seemingly unaware, and Prompto’s leash remained affixed in its place. The footsteps drew closer.

Thinking fast, Prompto dropped to the floor, the thud of his knees meeting tile bone-deep but essentially soundless. Ignis finally glanced up from the water, meeting his gaze with a frown. Prompto jerked his head in the direction of the entrance. The gesture only served to confuse his companion further, and with the pounding panic rising beneath his ribs, Prompto did the only thing he could think of.

“Slipped away for a spot of fun, son?” said the man, one of the other members of Besithia’s party, over Prompto’s head.

“Ah,” Ignis said, his genuine surprise aiding their alibi. Without direct badtouching, Prompto had slipped front of his trousers open and his thumb now rested at the join of Ignis’s hip – he couldn’t blame the guy for being a little off-balance. A hand came to rest on the back of his neck, fingers twitching as though resisting the urge to dig in.

Their interruptor continued. “Can’t say I blame you. Gods-awful speech, don’t you think?” 

Ignis responded with a brief smorgasbord of inarticulate pleasantries and at least one bewildered half-apology. Still on the floor, Prompto kept an eye on the other pair of legs out of the corner of his eye. He did Ignis’s pants back up, the belt buckle clacking between chilly fingers.

The other man relieved himself at a urinal and left after wiping his hand against the ass of his expensive slacks. Ignis once again feigned washing his own in the sink, and Prompto could practically hear their hearts pounding in unison as they waited out the sound of the door closing.

Prompto stood up so fast he swore the shorts followed a moment behind. “Sorry, dude,” he whispered. “I heard him and-“

“It’s alright,” Ignis cut him off. His nose had gone pink. “You, ah, good thinking. We hadn’t time. It’s alright.”

Then he turned to the hand-towel, and Prompto followed him out.

They wound up with the elevator to themselves; as soon as the doors closed, he couldn't help but relax, shuffle in place a little bit, tap his hands against his sides, seeking an outlet for the nervous energy that had been building all day.

Ignis carefully avoided looking at him, but murmured just under his breath, "Careful, now. Cameras."

Prompto stilled immediately. Ignis said something else, the words so quiet he couldn't quite catch them over the low jazz playing out of the elevator speakers. Before Prompto could respond, the door tone sounded and they were moving across the body of the welcome lobby, past oversized wall sconces and line after shiny line of ottoman seats. Prompto tried to keep pace with Ignis's long strides and avoid tripping over his own feet.

 

 

They took a cab to the arena, Prompto turning bright red where he perched. Based on the open behavior of the old bastards in the play party, he'd been prepared for transportation to get awkward. Like, curling up at Ignis's feet or something, the thought of which sent a hot rush through him. This car didn't have that kind of room, though.

Prompto shifted on the itchy woolen blanket their driver had insisted on laying down before waving him into the backseat. His face burned hot and he kept his head downturned so that as little of him was visible from the rearview mirror as possible. On the drive, he found once again he couldn't restrain himself from tapping his leg, worrying his hands back and forth slowly in his lap. The interruption in the restroom replayed itself on loop in his brain. 

The cab stopped. When Prompto stepped out, the driver aimed a scowl at his lowered gaze, as though his very presence had introduced unspeakable contagion to the man's vehicle, and slammed the door shut. Ignis handed the driver a wad of cash from their sponsor’s budget and bid his gratitude before gathering himself. Then he glanced back at Prompto, the first time since leaving the restroom. Ignis held out a hand. Prompto's own twitched automatically in response, and he raised his hand, hardly daring to breathe – until the tiniest shake of Ignis's head aborted his forward movement and he lowered it back down.

Almost imperceptibly, Ignis tipped his chin to Prompto's left. and he understood. The waiting palm remained upraised between their bodies. Prompto averted his gaze, unwinding the smooth strap of the leash from his left wrist, and placed it into Ignis's grip. Ignis gave it a quick pull, sending a jolt from Prompto’s throat to his groin, and without further ado they were off.

A short walk up the arena steps later, they were seen to Besithia's box by the same personal slave that had attended him the night before. The balding Besithia greeted Ignis personally, wheezing out his cover name with enthusiasm as though they hadn't just met the night before, and looked Prompto up and down with a leer so hungry Prompto had to suppress his involuntary shudder. Three other guests sat at leather bar chairs along the far wall, which consisted of a large window looking out above the coliseum. The other three walls served as home to televisions, a stocked bar, and a pristine couch. Beyond the main area, a small hallway extended. The room sat multiple levels up, placing them at vantage point to spectate events below.

Prompto twitched when Ignis handed his leash to Besithia's slave, having tuned out the two men. He was led to the left hallway. On the right a restroom door stood shut, and on the left, an elegant metal structure resembling a wrought-iron fence with the three leashes of the other guests' slaves affixed. They all had the same neutral, invisible expression Prompto was quickly becoming used to. As Besithia's slave wound Prompto's own around an open bar, tugging it once to check the knot, his stomach flipped over. He lowered himself to the hallway floor beside the others, mimicking the deceptively natural looking straight-backed pose each maintained.

An announcer shouted something on all three of the room’s TVs, and whatever happened next resulted in an explosion of screaming and cheering from the arena below. Prompto heard Ignis comment, but couldn't hear well enough over all the other noise in the room to make out what he was saying. One of Ignis’s companions laughed. Prompto stared at his hands where they sat balled atop his thighs, and focused on the way his skin moved over the bumps of his knuckles, trying to tune out both TV and other guests.

"Marvelous, isn't it?" Besithia was saying. "It's as they say: Nature takes its proper course. You see, you're winning already. I knew you had a clever look about you, Petrus."

He heard Ignis respond. "I find, Chief Besithia, that it is the element of chance in which lies real excitement."

"Not clever, then, but lucky," the target said.

Another drank loudly. ”Some say luck’s the result of cleverness enough to plan for unforeseen obstacles."

"I might be quite clever, indeed, were that the case," Ignis said smoothly. Prompto could hear the same self-deprecating undertone he used when complimented on his appearance. Six, he was excelling at this. "On the other hand –" another roar of crowd noise rippled through the booth. "– ever more medals, my friend, seem to have slipped through your fingers." Besithia cursed. Prompto huffed in amusement, then panicked, stiffening in his position despite the protests of his knees. No guest seemed to have heard, although one of the other people attached to the grate snuck him a sidelong look.

Another of the guests spoke up. "And _you've_ won again! Tusk 'til Dawn haven't taken one match all season. What do you know that we don't?"

"As you well know, I am a newcomer to the region," Ignis said. "I merely liked the sound of the name."

The old men cracked up at that, for some reason. Prompto fought to keep a smile from his face. Classic Iggy.

The betting and banter continued over the sounds of ugly battle blaring over television speakers. Prompto alternated between listening to Ignis and the announcer's commentary, tuning in without really paying attention to the content of the fights. As a few rounds passed, the guest who'd questioned Ignis about his bet found his losses mounting and became increasingly agitated, howling in indignation. He finally lost the last of his entrance pool medals at the bottom of the second core match, and Prompto heard a crash of hard glass meeting harder floor. Onscreen and faintly through the glass, the arena horn sounded, denoting intermission.

Prompto wondered, almost distantly, which of the other slaves was owned by this man.

"Curb the whimpering, you daft man. It flatters you not.” Besithia laughed, a crawling, dry sound that stood the hair on the back of Prompto's neck on end. “What must our newcomer think?” 

"I assure you, I am intimately acquainted with loss in battle," Ignis said. "My sympathies."

"Speaking of luck, yours continues to stupefy," Besithia said. "You're quite certain you have no tricks to share?"

Ignis laughed, then, himself, tittered and deflected until he'd steered the conversation back towards maximizing wartime profit and quashing worker dissent. Even the angry guest perked back up when the other two in the booth joined in conversation.

At the five-minute call for patrons to return to their seats, Besithia’s slave returned to the hallway. He unhooked the leashes attached to Prompto and the others, unnecessarily tugging them to their feet. The slave dropped the leashes, Prompto's falling silently against the front of his body.

For the first time, Prompto noticed the edges of a geometric tattoo against the pale skin of the boy's wrist. He almost slapped his hand over the band on his right on pure instinct, though the impulse immediately made him feel like a fool.

He still didn't know what they were being retrieved for. Prompto remembered the party of the previous night. Ignis's palm against his stomach. They’d been around these guys all day, but as far as he could tell, the sexy outfits were an in-group only sort of affair. How much of the weird BDSM stuff was "secret sadist club only" material? Did the arena have a policy against public exhibitionism, or did private booth equal fair game? Did human laws even apply to the enslaved? For probably the fifth time, Prompto wished he'd tried to learn more when he'd agreed to this before blindly following his dick. 

The others were tying their leashes off, so he took his time winding it around his wrist again. He mocked himself mentally as he went. _A weekend in character! A spy mission! It's like cosplaying to the Assassin's Festival!_

Fortunately, he'd been led in last, so last he was to follow the others, trying to move his fingers invisibly at his sides as the urge to fidget and tap sought an outlet. He'd take his cues from them, and well, he knew what he was getting into. If he and Iggy ended up with weird sex memories, well – they’d had one close call today already – they’d work it out. Or never talk about it again. And maybe, if Iggy gave him time off again tomorrow, it would become yet more material with which to board the pervert express.

Prompto’s rising panic defused itself as the slaves took their places before their masters' feet and nobody reached for a zipper. Prompto knelt before Ignis, facing him this time, like the others. He kept his gaze on his friend's shoes, not trusting himself to risk a look up. One end of Ignis’s laces hung longer than the other.

Only when he caught a glimpse of Besithia shifting around in his peripheral vision did Prompto receive an explanation for their relocation. Besithia's slave had gotten up on his hands and knees and Prompto slowly repositioned himself to follow suit. He kept looking straight ahead, trying to watch without watching in spite of the growing sensation of his own tongue drying inside his mouth. Besithia lifted one leg, then the other, and let them fall on the slave's waiting back.

Just as Prompto saw the second foot land, he felt a weight across the middle of his bare spine. Then another. The texture of Ignis's sole tugged at his skin, so that as Ignis found a comfortable position, Prompto could feel the heel digging into his skin and twisting it around. The shoes had looked spotless to the naked eye, but a scratchy film of grit dragged against his back.

Ignis crossed one leg over the other. Distantly, Prompto heard the announcer calling the next match over the television speakers. The sounds of the game resumed, and soon, so did the five men's conversation, bantering leisurely back and forth while the boys on the floor maintained position, having not said a word about the change in arrangements.

Besithia said something. The man across from Ignis responded. Prompto wasn't able to focus on anything but the weight of Ignis's legs on his back, and his own attempts to keep still in the position. Even though Ignis no doubt took care not to disturb him, he shifted slightly with each dialogue or distraction. Prompto could feel the tiniest movement travel down the other man’s body into his own backbone.

Ignis had been out all morning, likely walking back and forth through parts of the resort. Then they'd been to that other thing. And the taxi. The street by the gondola stop outside had been polka-dotted with puddles. Ignis had stepped in any manner of things.

Just then, the audience cheered for the end of a match. Besithia spoke again. Ignis laughed at whatever was said over a sip at his drink, a theatrical mirth that traveled down the length of his legs. As Prompto's arms and knees shook, he wondered what could be going through his partner’s head. Knowing Ignis, he’d constantly be weighing options and strategizing, even now. It had almost been too easy to kiss up to this Besithia guy. Prompto just needed to get into his rooms tonight, show him a good time, figure out where their objective was being kept. His chance to shine. They still had plenty of time to pull this off. 

Above him, Ignis laughed again. Prompto looked down at his hands, splayed before him on the polished floor. 

 

 

Everything from the moment he knelt before Ignis happened twice as fast. The Totomostro tournament ran later than expected, and they traveled in Besithia's car back to the resort. This time, Prompto did spend the ride tucked against Ignis's feet. They hadn't time to stop back up at the room, and went straight to another group dinner instead.

The boy on Besithia's leash was younger than Prompto, but physically similar, a svelte blonde with a narrow nose. If he’d been skinny as a kid, he probably would’ve looked similar. Prompto didn’t meet too many other Niff kids growing up and he’d been an only child besides. Facing Besithia’s slave, he could almost get the idea of having a family resemblance. Another good reason it had to be him. Hopefully the guy had a type. The whole way back, staring at his doppelgänger, Prompto wondered if he could get away with touching his own back, just to make sure there wasn't a smear or something from Ignis’s soles. He kept his hands at his sides, but couldn't ban mental images. The collar felt tighter and tighter.

Prompto watched Besithia's slave for hidden signs of personality. No dice so far. Which unsettled him; where he'd grown up, Prompto hadn't met any enslaved people personally, as far as he knew, or at least not many. He hadn’t been around the ultra-rich either. But it wasn't like just wearing a collar turned people into space aliens or anything. Even Ignis’d been born into it for the better part of his life, and he was the most opinionated guy Prompto knew. Or maybe that had just been the natural consequence of best friendship with Gladio and trying to advise-slash-raise Noct for a living.

Yet everyone they interacted with in this resort had the same sort of detached vibe, and Ignis and the others rarely even acknowledged their presence, for better or worse. So far, the only exception he witnessed had been the night of their arrival. On the way to dinner, they'd seen a furious, red-nosed jerkoff in a suit rain blows upon the bowed head of a grown man, all ostensibly over a dropped plate. They'd just sort of walked past, but Prompto had seen the way Ignis tensed up for a minute.

The one place in which the rules seemed to change completely was the after-dinner play party. Even the outfits and the collars and leashes acted as more of a fashion statement than anything. Or, more likely, a power statement. As if in this circle Prompto amounted to the social equivalent of a decent purse with legs. Not the mental image he'd been fostering from the Marshal’s brief overview.

At dinner, Besithia tried to pet Prompto on the head as he walked by. Ignis pretended to mistake the man's overture for a handshake, expressing gratitude once again for the invitation to the arena, and Prompto curled closer to his leg, feeling stupidly grateful at the save.

Subsequently ignored through the rest of dinner, Iggy eventually hand-fed Prompto his leftovers again, this time something gamey in cream sauce. Prompto got at as much as he could with just the tip of his teeth, and cleaned Ignis's fingers off only at the end. At the dessert's arrival, Ignis leaned back comfortably in his chair, coffee in one hand and the other kneading the top of Prompto's skull in soothing circles.

 

 

"Step in anything lately?" Prompto said sarcastically, trying his best to crack a grin. He had twisted one arm behind his back, rubbing awkwardly wherever it reached.

Ignis glanced at him, flipped the door latch, then strode to the armchair, loosening his necktie. He sat with an exhale that reminded Prompto of the roar of the Totomostro crowds.

"Ignis? Buddy? Pal?" Prompto said. He walked past Ignis to grab his towel. "Gonna grab a showerino, I think. You O.K.?"

Ignis’s fists rested on the tops of his knees, curled tight, but he nodded. "Excellent work today, Prompto," he said. "Thank you for placing your trust in me."

Prompto slapped his upper arm, grinning. "You got it, dude. And hey – You're winning at this. Don't freak out too bad." Prompto realized as he said it that the reassurance was as much for him as for Ignis. But hey, they both needed it. "Two down, two to go."

His friend grimaced. "Suppose so."

"That footrest routine? Major weird." Prompto added on impulse. “Like, before, I was thinking: 'What freaky stuff can we possibly do in this rom the next three hours?' but now I know."

"It is quite disturbing, isn't it?"

"Have you done that before?" Prompto asked before he could stop himself, and Ignis frowned. 

"I must ask that you restrain your unfailing curiosity about my life," Ignis said. "Until we've seen the last of this place, if nothing else."

Prompto stammered in search of an apology, but Ignis sighed, held up a hand and continued. "But to answer your question, no. Nothing about this is familiar. Imitating those our target surrounds himself with is the best I've managed." 

"Monkey see, monkey do, right?" Prompto said. "Cool. I'm in the same boat."

"A fortifying thought," Ignis said.

“Hey, we’re doing alright for an improv.” Prompto grinned. Ignis didn't smile, but some of the tension seemed to have left his head and shoulders. "BRB now, shower time."

Under the low rumble of the water, Prompto let himself loosen a bit, push off some of the creeping stresses that had been rolling around the back of his mind the past couple hours. He palmed at himself, idly drawing on that morning. Prompto conjured up halfhearted mental images of the day: the speech, the trip to the arena. The guy who walked in on them in the bathroom. He massaged the bare skin of his neck with the fingertips of his other hand. Tried to picture Ignis, snapping his fingers or flicking his wrist...

...Ugh. No dice. Too weird. This wasn’t like yesterday. It had just been a weird time all around. His dick had stiffened a bit between the warmth of his digits and the cascading stream, but quickly gave up.

Half-dressed once again, Prompto stepped out of the bathroom directly into Ignis's outstretched hand, raised to knock. Both jumped apart. Then Ignis thrust something into Prompto's grip. He stood stiff as a board as Prompto turned the small bottle over.

"There's no label," Prompto said. He uncapped it and gave it a sniff. Then he blinked. "Whoah, that’s nice,” he said. “Is this for me?”

"While you were in the bath, the Chief had it delivered - with his compliments." Ignis pushed his glasses against his nose. Prompto tipped a tiny bit of scented oil on his fingertips, rubbing them together.

"So, yes," he said. "Sweet! Sure thing! Nice and shiny for the rich man. Oh-kay. Love it." He undid his recently-reattached collar with one hand, tossing it onto the bed, and poured more of the oil over his palm. Prompto started to rub it in against his throat and shoulders.

"Prompto," Ignis began, voice tight like he was in pain.

He couldn't quite place the scent. Sort of nutty, not too spicy. Probably expensive stuff. Scratch that – definitely. His skin where the oil had soaked in already felt like velvet on his hand. 

“Undercover femme fatale always was my dream role," he joked.

Ignis's entire face strained.

"Jealous?" Prompto winked.

...maybe just exasperated.

"I'm fine, Iggy," he said, with more confidence than he felt. "Seriously. We've got a plan, man. The old guy is a total slimeball. But he's got the keys to the city, and we're in pretty deep.”

"Please. Prompto. If you feel even for a moment that Chief Besithia's requests exceed your reasonable limits, whatever they may be, invoke my name immediately," Ignis said, undeterred.

“Dude, relax. It’s like doing amateur porn. Not super fun, but nothing to be afraid of.”

"I've already promised only what we agreed on, and no more. He may not give care to insult or injury visited upon a piece of property, but he will respect the will of the _owner_."

Prompto moved methodically from one patch of bare skin to the next. "Yeah, of course," he said. "Not gonna blow the mission over one creep, but I appreciate you having my back, man."

With twenty minutes to go, they reviewed the plan for the play party and Prompto's temporary transfer to Besithia's care. Ignis fidgeted and fussed the whole way, charismatic businessman persona giving way to the familiar, high-strung, overprotective nerd Prompto knew and loved. Er, respected deeply.

"Tonight's the hard part," Prompto said. "Then it's cocktail parties, tiny shorts, and smooth sailing 'til Monday morning." Ignis tried to interrupt, but this time Prompto stayed him. " _You've_ been doing all the work. Now sit back and let the master of seduction do his thing."

That earned him a smile. "You are right, of course. When should we expect his arrival?"

Prompto, grinning, slapped a hand over his heart at the tease. "Ouch. From my own partner-in-crime!"

"And who better to tell you the truth?" Ignis said.


End file.
